“In that case we could make it a few weeks. A month, maybe.”
“That’s it?”
“It wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” he said.
She woke up in the middle of the night with her head on his chest, his arms around her. She listened to his heart thumping, slowly at first, then picking up. Her breaths came out in shallow huffs as she tried not to move. And then he pulled her into him. His lips touched her cheek, then her mouth. She felt something drop in her, like an elevator lurching and then sinking to the floor below.
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away from her. “Malcolm!” she whispered. “What are you doing?” He just mumbled, still asleep, and turned away from her. He murmured something she couldn’t catch. They woke up late the next morning and made gingerbread pancakes.
Only once did they journey beyond Malcolm’s block. Bundled up in layers, they headed out to the store and were amazed to see that life had been carrying on without them. It was as if they had gone out to buy some groceries and instead found a new civilization with indecipherable customs. Walking back the four blocks from the store, it started to snow again. They burst back into the apartment, shed their extra layers, and returned to their cozy little snowed-in life.
Before they got into bed that night, she announced that they should sleep with a barricade between them. She gathered some throw pillows from the couch and lined them up and down the center of the bed.
“And what is the purpose of this?” he asked, amused.
“No more funny business.”
His face revealed nothing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She looked down, cleared her throat. “You know.” She gestured to herself, then to him, standing on the other side of the bed. “Last night.” She paused. “You kissed me.”
His eyes widened. “Me? You?”
She hesitated. She couldn’t read his expression. “It’s not going to happen again!” She turned down the covers, careful not to disturb the line of pillows on top of everything. Maybe she should have arranged them under the sheets. She got into bed and sat against the headboard with her arms crossed over her chest.
Malcolm got in bed, too, and then turned onto his side and looked up at her. He lowered his voice, so she had to strain to hear him. “Well, you did let me put my hands all over you the night before. And then you inched closer and closer to me, practically forcing me to hold you. So excuse me if maybe I got the wrong idea—”
Her mouth fell open. “I thought you were asleep!”
He smiled up at her. “Right. We were both ‘asleep.’ Let’s go with that.”
“You bastard!” She grabbed one of the pillows and hit him over the head with it.
“Ow.” He picked up another pillow and threw it in her general direction. It flew across the bed and landed on the floor.
She saw where this was headed: pillow fight on the bed, both of them screeching, feathers flying through the air, then somehow both of them landing in a heap in the middle of the bed, panting … “I’m going to sleep on the couch,” she said. “I’m serious this time.”
“No you’re not. Come on. Go to sleep. I’ll be good, I promise.”
The next day she made a big deal about calling Nate. She locked herself in the bathroom for privacy, sat on the edge of the tub, and stared at her phone. She couldn’t handle talking to her boyfriend just yet. So, she dialed her sister’s number and carried on a hushed conversation for as long as she could sustain it. Then she called Nate. They chatted for a bit, and after five minutes he said he had to go. She turned off the phone and just sat there for a moment, trying to clear her head. She felt completely exhausted all of a sudden. She’d hardly slept the entire weekend. She soaked a washcloth with cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it to her face. Looking in the mirror, her reflection revealed the same worn out face as a moment before—only now it was slightly damp.
She emerged from the bathroom to find Malcolm in the kitchen. “Just in time,” he said, pulling a pan from the oven.
“Mmm,” she said, breathing in the chocolaty air.
“Brownies.”
“From scratch, I’m sure.”
“Of course.” He took out a spatula, cut her a large square, and placed it on a saucer, presenting it to her with a flourish.
It was so hot she had to pluck a small piece from the edge and blow on it before popping it in her mouth. She jolted awake, as if tasting the blissful combination of sugar, butter, and chocolate for the first time. “Oh my god. So good.”
He stood leaning against the counter and studied her as she ate.
She moaned between every bite. “This is the best thing I have ever tasted in my entire life.”
When she finished, she finally noticed him staring at her. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
He gave a sad little smile and shook his head. “Why don’t you just break up with him?”
Joanna froze. “What?” She tried to sound surprised. She and Nate had always said they’d end it before it got bad. But it was never that bad. She wasn’t going to dump him for chewing too loudly or leaving his running clothes on the bathroom floor. She was reasonable. Leaving Nate would feel like knitting half a sweater. To spend all that money on yarn, all those hours counting stitches, twisting needles together—only to crumple it all into a shoebox and shove it under the bed—seemed like such a waste. She had logged some solid hours getting to know him. His favorite color: blue. The name of his childhood pet turtle: Shelly. How he liked his coffee: with five packets of sugar, unstirred. And in return, he got to know her, too. He was good about things like that.
“You know you’re miserable with him. Do it now. Call him back, tell him it’s over.” Malcolm came up to her, took the saucer from her and set it on the counter. Then he put his hands on her waist and peered down at her.
She blinked but didn’t push him away. “And then what?”
“Then—” Malcolm pulled her closer to him. His voice deepened. “I throw you back on the bed, and—”
She jerked away from him, let his arms fall down to his sides. “What I mean is, I’m not going to call up my boyfriend and break up with him. We live together. I’m not going to just put two years into something and then throw it all away for some … snowed-in fantasy.”
“Fine.” Malcolm turned away. “Do what you want.”
The city began to emerge from the storm. Just the day before—no, just hours before—she had been suspended in a winter wonderland of sparkling icicles and snowflakes bigger than cotton balls. Now brown slush coated the streets. A cold drizzle of rain replaced the delicate flakes of snow.
“There’s maybe one foot of snow on the ground and the whole city shuts down for a week,” Nate grumbled. They were waiting in a coffee shop, where they would stay until the oil company filled their tank. They had had to call five companies before someone would agree to arrive that day. Then it would probably take a few hours to heat the house twenty degrees.
“Well, you know they don’t have the equipment to deal with storms like these,” she said. They’d had this conversation before, probably last winter. “Other cities have major snow storms every year. They have snow plows, people have snow tires on their cars, not to mention proper coats and—”
“I know.” He had been in a bad mood since returning late that morning. Part of her wanted to ask about Melissa, but another part was content to sit in the coffee shop eating bagels and drinking tea. Maybe we don’t need to talk things through, she thought. Isn’t talking things through what got couples in so much trouble? Wouldn’t we all be happier if we just agreed to overlook certain unpleasant subjects and move on?
“So, I want you to know that I had nothing to do with inviting Melissa to stay with my parents for Christmas,” he said.
She sighed. “All right.”
He told her the whole story. Melissa had been going through a “rough time.” She had been living in Boston with a very controlling and manipulati
ve boyfriend, to whom she was engaged. This boyfriend—Charles was his name—told her she was fat, even though, Nate insisted, she had a very trim and petite body due to diligent exercise and good eating habits. Charles wore her down to the point that she developed an eating disorder. “And she’s a dentist!” As if that was what made it all so incomprehensible. It all ended in a huge fight that involved Charles punching walls and breaking dishes. He broke up with Melissa and pried the ten-thousand-dollar engagement ring off her finger. She packed her bags and flew back to Seattle that very day.
“The good news is, she really seems to be doing much better.”
“That’s good,” Joanna said flatly.
“The thing is,” Nate said, “she’ll probably be staying with my parents for a bit longer, until she can find a place—”
“She’s moving back to Seattle? What about Boston? Didn’t she have a dental practice there?”
He shook his head. “She just worked at a clinic. In fact, she’s going to be able to transfer to the same one back home.”
She took a sip of her tea, which was now cold. The teabag floated in it, waterlogged. “But I don’t understand why she has to stay with your parents.”
He hesitated before answering. “It’s just … everyone thought … she was doing so much better—”
“But doesn’t Melissa have anywhere else to go?” Joanna interrupted. “I mean, she’s a dentist. She runs marathons for fun.”
Nate shrugged. “Even dentists have problems.” Right then his phone rang. He answered it while she waited, studying his face. He looked tired. “Good news,” he said. “We have oil.”
That night they sat side by side in bed, each ready to sink into a thick book. She nudged closer to him and intertwined her leg with his. “I missed you.” Once she said it, she decided it was true. It was nice just lying next to someone like this, their bare legs touching, without feeling any sort of nervousness or uncontrollable flutters. She could reach over, kiss him, grab him if she wanted to. And she knew that he would respond. And even if he didn’t, she wouldn’t be offended.
She closed her book with a loud snap and turned to Nate. He looked up at her. Then she was all over him, kissing his face, working her way down his neck, tearing off his shirt, kissing his chest, his tanned and toned stomach. He responded in kind. Surprised, but willing.
Over an hour later, Nate shuffled to the kitchen. This was one problem she had with Nate: the sex seemed to go on forever. Forty-five minutes to an hour and a half. Most women had the opposite problem, she knew. She tried to maintain her interest during the act by running her hands along his arms and chest and neck. She couldn’t look at his face, with his eyes clamped shut, as if he were savoring each interminable moment. It’s not that his body turned her on so much as she thought it should. “He’s a beautiful man,” her friend Allison had told her when Joanna had first wondered about him. She had seen him around campus, making eyes at her. He wasn’t a grad student, but he worked at the university, in admissions. Soon Joanna had what any woman would be lucky to have: a beautiful man who could make love for hours at a time. Maybe something was wrong with her, for not wanting it.
Nate came back into the bedroom, still naked, carrying an armful of snacks. He was always ravenous after sex. He opened a Tupperware container and offered it to Joanna. “Brownie?”
Her face flushed. Malcolm had tossed the container in her suitcase as she was packing up to leave. “Here,” he’d said. “Enjoy these with your boyfriend.” Joanna shook her head at Nate and pushed the brownies away. She couldn’t eat one in front of Nate.
“I don’t know what got into you tonight,” Nate was saying, crunching down on a potato chip. “But I like it.” He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s good to be home.” Then he sighed. “I just wish I didn’t have to go back in a couple weeks.”
She had been leaning into him, holding on to his arm, but she stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“I promised Melissa I’d help her move. She found an apartment next to the clinic where she’ll be working.”
“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“Is this a problem?”
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open. He infuriated her, the way he did this. He acted nonchalant and unruffled to highlight how unreasonable and neurotic she was behaving. “Yes, it’s a problem! Melissa is a grown woman! I think she can figure out how to move into an apartment without your help!”
“I thought you wanted her out of my parents’ house!” He threw up his hands. It was like he was acting out a part in a play or a sitcom. She could almost imagine him rolling his eyes and falling back onto his pillows in an exhausted heap. “Women!” he’d exclaim, cueing the laugh track. “It’s not like I’m going up there for fun. It’s not a vacation. I’m going up there to help her out. She’s not in a good place right now—”
“I know that,” Joanna said.
“Well, the way you were acting—”
“You’re just trying to help. I know.”
“Exactly. Listen—I know I’ve been gone a lot. You could come up with me, if you want.”
“To help your ex-girlfriend move?”
“She really wants to meet you.”
Nate’s parents’ house, painted forest green, blended into the hill it stood on. A huge fir tree loomed over it, so close to the house the branches touched the windows and left a cushion of needles on the ground. The whole drive up had been bleak, hurtling through sheets of rain, windshield wipers swiping back and forth. By the time they arrived in Seattle it was almost dark, and the rain had stopped. Seattle air felt colder and saltier than Portland air.
No one greeted them at the door. Inside, the only light came from the gas fireplace glowing at the end of the room. Quiet flames flickered over ceramic aspen logs. Melissa huddled in front of it, her face blinking in and out of the shadows. She could pass for a child, but she was twenty-nine years old. Nate’s age. She shivered and pulled a terrible brown and orange afghan closer to herself. She was like a mouse in a children’s book.
“Hi Melissa,” Nate said in a careful voice, the way you might talk to a patient in a mental institution.
Melissa gave them both a little smile. “Hi guys,” she said. The afghan slipped down her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of mint green scrubs. Her hair was all one length, chopped off just below the chin, and light brown, the kind that, in childhood, was probably blonde.
No one talked much during dinner. Nate’s mother said, “It was so nice of you to come up, Joanna,” but her voice sounded off. Melissa excused herself from the table and went upstairs before dessert.
“She’s been resting a lot,” Nate’s father explained. They all acted as if Melissa was an invalid, too fragile for this world. It was hard to imagine her working as a dentist or even working at all.
Hours after everyone else had gone to sleep, Nate and Joanna brushed their teeth. The upstairs rooms were damp and cold, letting off an odor of cedar and mothballs. The bedroom Nate used to share with his brother had remained unaltered since their childhood: two twin beds with matching plaid bedspreads, a cork bulletin board pinned with track and field ribbons. “Well,” Joanna said, sitting down on the brother’s bed, “I guess I’ll head downstairs.” His parents “didn’t feel comfortable” with them sharing a room, and Melissa was already occupying the guest room. Joanna had insisted she’d be fine downstairs on the sofa bed. She couldn’t kick him out of his own room.
“Rough day,” Nate said.
“She’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I thought she’d be blonde, for some reason. Blonde and perky.”
Nate shook his head. “You should’ve seen her a couple weeks ago—she was even worse. Like a cult member. Dead eyes.”
“What did he do to her?”
Nate’s face froze. “I’m not really sure.” She thought she saw him hold back tears. “She was so different, b
ack when we were together. Every guy wanted her. Always laughing, really funny. I mean, it used to bug me, how guys were always coming up to her, telling her how hot she was. She had such a cute little—”
“Okay,” Joanna said, “I get it.”
“Joanna—” Nate came over and put his arm around her. “You’re pretty, too.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But you know that.”
Joanna turned to him, and they kissed. “You’re warm,” he murmured into her neck. She reached to pull his shirt up over his head, but he stopped her. “Not here,” he whispered. He tilted his head toward the other room. “Melissa’s right next door.”
Joanna sighed.
“You know I want to,” Nate said. “But it’s weird, right? In my parents’ house …”
“Right,” Joanna said. She patted him on the leg. “Well, it’s just one weekend.”
“She’ll be gone tomorrow night,” he said. “Rain check?”
“Sure.”
“We could go out to dinner. Anywhere you want.”
“Sounds nice.” She smiled up at him, and he ruffled his hands through her hair.
The next day, Nate and Joanna met in the kitchen for breakfast. Joanna dressed without taking a shower, since Nate had suggested they get an early start. “Where’s Melissa?” Joanna said.
Nate’s mom, wearing a bathrobe, shuffled in and poured herself a cup of coffee. “You two might want to get started without Melissa,” she said.
Joanna looked at Nate, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She should march upstairs and shake Melissa by the shoulders. Wake up, she would shout in that tiny, scared face. This is your life!
“What’s Melissa up to?” Joanna asked, trying to make her voice sound light and conversational.
“She’s sleeping,” Nate’s mom said.
“Oh.” So that was that.
Nate and Joanna rented a trailer. They stopped by Melissa’s parents’ house in Green Lake to pick up her old bedroom furniture. Then they drove all the way to Renton to buy the dresser, coffee table, night stand, and kitchen table Melissa had circled in the IKEA catalog. They put it all on Melissa’s credit card. Other than that, Melissa didn’t own any more than a couple suitcases, which Joanna imagined were stuffed with scrubs and sweat pants.
Broken Homes & Gardens Page 6
